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She flashes a sad grin. “Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how pathetic is that?”
Her big, green, pleading eyes beg me to make her feel better.
I want to, too.
I want desperately to take away some of her pain. I haven’t talked with her like this, heart-to-heart, in fourteen years. But I’m right back to feeling like she’s part of me, and her pain’s mine.
“You’re driven, with your goals,” I tell her. “You always talked about getting into the film business. And socializing and networking is part of it, right?”
“Yeah, but maybe I was using Sylvester as much as he was using me. I’m getting what I deserve.”
“Look—you were a little starstruck. That is totally normal human behavior. Don’t beat yourself up about that.”
“Starstruck is one thing. But… living with the guy? For four and a half years? What was I thinking…?”
“You made decisions based on everything you knew at the time, just like everyone does. You did your best. Honestly, Maddison, it’s not worth it to second-guess your choices.”
“Second-guessing my choices is pretty much my full-time occupation these days. I am questioning every single decision I’ve made since I graduated college. I think staying in a rec room basement has that effect on a person. It’s horrible.”
“At least you’re out now.” I motion to the kitchen around us. “Surrounded by fresh new astrology-themed decor, nibbling brownies, enjoying the company of the best-behaved dog on the planet.”
“Ha.” It’s one deadpanned sound, but the curl of her lip after, as she tugs at the edge of her paper napkin, lets me know that my words are helping.
That’s all the encouragement I need. “Questioning is one thing,” I tell her. “I mean, everyone does that. I do plenty of that.Butregretis different. Regret’s a totally worthless emotion. Like FOMO and getting angry because a bird pooped on your head.”
“I don’t think fear of missing out is an emotion,” she says.
“Out of the two examples I gave,that’sthe one you’re going to give me a hard time about? I thought for sure you’d hone in on the bird poop.”
“Okay, let’s say I did call you out on that one. What’s your response?”
“Getting bird poop on your head is a horrible feeling. It happened to me three weeks ago and I’m still reeling. It’s hard not to take it personally. It’s like Mother Nature singled you out and smacked you in the face.”
“So, not fun.”
“Not fun at all, but getting angry about it is a huge waste of time. Same with regret. It gets you nowhere. Worthless. Even worse than worthless.”
“Now it sounds like we’re talking about my bank account balance,” she grumbles. “I’m in the red.”
“Another sore subject?”
She shrugs. “Everything except small talk is going to be sore at this point, and I’ll die if we talk about the weather forecast every time we hang out.”
Every time.
Are we going to sit around this kitchen a lot over the next couple months?
I hope we do. This is fun.
I feel bad for her, that she’s going through this stuff. But I also genuinely feel relieved that she’s not living with that jerk out in California anymore. Maddison is way too interesting and nice and funny to be treated as any guy’s arm candy. She has too much to offer the world to be an accessory. It’s a good thing she had the sense to get away.
And even better that she decided to run here, to Stillwell.
To the house right next to mine.
“So, did you see we’re supposed to get some rain next Tuesday?” I ask her, just to get another smile.
She obliges, even throws a chuckle in, too. Better than chocolate, that laugh.
